OK. so pictures! I promised pictures of my long weekend away, yes I did, yep, yep. And yet … it appears that the majority of my 250 photos from that weekend are of drunken escapades. I KNOW. It’s so hard to believe. However I have managed to unearth some scenic shots for your edification. Oh, and due to laziness and suchlike, photos have been crappily resized in Picture Manager rather than Photoshop. Please don’t blame my swish new camera for any crapness. All crapness courtesy of me, and Microsoft. Anyhoo, onwards!

Here’s a gum tree, with some general scenery. We are near Mt. Stirling at this point. Can you see the beautiful mists wreathing the mountain? This will become important later.

This is Craig’s Hut, which is where the movie The Man From Snowy River was filmed and it has beautiful 180 degree views to the snowy mountains all around the ranges. See? The beautiful views? …no. No, you do not. This is because of the mist and the fog and the general freezingness. I am sorry not to be able to show you the beautiful views, but I am even more sorry that I did not get to see them myself. And to think it all looked so pretty from far away.

Here is another shot of the general climate. Tis the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, in case you were wondering. Especially the mists. I would like to particularly point out the mists. Remember we were 4WDing on narrow tracks in large vehicles with limited visibility, due to said mists (not so much the mellow fruitfulness). Eerily beautiful for me! Nervewracking for Mr. T! It’s the perfect combination!

And finally, this is the best shot of my hair that I have from that weekend. I am on the right. One of my friends, who shall remain unidentified (as I haven’t yet thought of a name for her) is on the left. We are ‘dancing’ (and I use this term loosely) to Bohemian Rhapsody. Hence the thrashing of the hair. Actually, my hair doesn’t look too stripy in this picture. But I can practically see the drunkenness exuding from us in waves. Please note: it is approximately 8pm. I am a Wild, Raging, Party Animal. Rrrrr.

I tried to post some pictures and Blogger buggered my template. Trying to fix. Why have you done this to me craphole Blogger? I must try and force runon sentences to make it nice and easy for Blogger to recalculate itself. Hate hate haaaaate. Also loathe. And hate. How much more? Stream of consciousness. Brown Dog in front of heater. Mr. T in front of heater, about to have a shower. Ben Kingsley on the TV. Me on the couch. And WE ALL HATE Blogger. Well, we would. But at the moment it’s only me.

Edit: Pictures will be up soon, once I fix this. (Note – if you didn’t have to scroll, please comment so I don’t bust a gut trying to fix this. Alternatively, offer to fix this yourself. Go on. You want to.)

Edit 2: OK, so this scroll thing is in Firefox but not Internet Explorer. I’m onto you, Blogger. But I don’t care. I won’t go back, I won’t I won’t …

Cat Chicken Wing Update: Day Five.… oh you really didn’t think I’d leave a chicken wing in the cat’s bowl for five days, did you?

…I did, actually. Let’s move on.

… yeah, I can’t stop thinking about it either. In my defense, the cat’s bowl is in the laundry on top of the washing machine (to stop the dogs eating the cat food. Although both dogs can get their heads up that high, now I think about it. They’re probably eating cat food RIGHT NOW. Excuse me.) (Also: as an aside, the cat biscuits and the washing powder are kept in identical plastic containers on top of the dryer. I haven’t yet fed the cat RadiantXL, nor the washing machine Purina One, but there’s always tomorrow. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya! Tomorrow! (Remember that entry about me singing bits of songs? Yeah, that’s still happening. (Also, remember the entry about all the punctuation? Mmm.))) And, in my usual circuitous manner, this has nothing to do with the chicken wing. Right. The CAT’S BOWL. Is in the laundry. Because the laundry is at the back of the house which is bitingly, numbingly, chillingly freezingly cold. So basically that chicken wing was refrigerated the whole time. So there was no salmonella or E. coli or listeria on it. (Well, maybe a little bit. Around the edges.)

So in summary: chicken wing uneaten. Chicken wing thrown out. Cat’s teeth still tartar-choked. Next plan of attack: buy those thimble-looking toothbrush things that fit on your finger, give to Mr. T, throw the cat at him and run like hell. I’ll let you know how it goes.

I am procrastinating madly due to the large pile of work I have sitting ominously on the coffee table, lurking and mocking me. If Powerpoint printouts could cackle, they would be crooning madly at me right now. Damn you work! I actually really like the project you are summarising, but damn you all to hell!

I feel I have to weigh in on “Super Nanny”, a program I never usually get to see as I am usually at the gym (which I did not go to tonight due to the aforementioned work, SHUT UP SHUT UP) and also there is “Myth Busters” on SBS which is far superior. Anyway I am sure that should a child ever fall into my clutches, it will not rule me as demonstrated so aptly on Super Nanny. I am master of the house! Just ask my dogs. Who are … oh, at present tracking in mud from the garden onto the rug, stealing pens and chewing them up, and stealing avocados from the tree faster than I can collect them. But I tell them, “no, dogs, naughty,” and I’m sure one day they’ll listen.

Cat Chicken Wing Update: Day Two. Chicken wing is still in bowl. Cat glares at me fixedly from the moment I get up to the moment I slink guiltily out of the house, then begins again when I get home. Cat is at present sitting 30 cm away with his back to me and is ostentatiously cleaning his nether regions. Upon investigation of bowl (bowl! Not nether regions!), the chicken wing appears to have been pushed to side and more biscuits have been added. Accuse Mr. T of subterfuge, pandering and general malingering. No wonder the cat loves him best.

Yeah, when I promised to post ‘tomorrow’ with photos? Total lies, obviously. However it is now Sunday night and my mission for Sunday was: “Not to go onto the computer until after dinner” and if you knew my usual Sunday routine you would be staggered by the import of this verdict. But I persevered! I have not been on the computer all day! Until after dinner! I have been to Prahran Market (we bought chicken wings and Mr. T bought coffee beans), and I have baked afghans (yum) and a caramel ginger slice (too caramelly), and I have walked the dogs (acceptable behaviour from the dogs; usually when walked together they are like inattentive 6-year-olds hepped up on sugar), and I have fed all the aminals (including a chicken wing to the cat, who will have to get his teeth scaled for tartar unless he eats chickent wings, and despite me affirming it will be “delICious!”, he does not find it so), and I have written the longest run-on sentence known to man. So really, in the scheme of things, what do photos matter? Oh, and there were none of my hair, from memory. Sorry about that. (Not really very sorry.) Lots of the foggy Victorian scenery though. I’ll see what I can dig up.

God, my neck is killing me. I’ve either got meningitis or I’ve been sleeping on a crappy foam mattress for the past three nights. Yes, that second one. That sounds familiar. Anyway my long weekend was heaps of fun although not at all relaxing. Photos will undoubtedly follow, as I managed to fill my 1Gig memory card in the new camera. None of my hair though. Well, not specifically of my hair. Although my hair should be visible. Unless I’ve managed to crop my head right off my body. I’m rambling now, due to lack of sleep and the craphole mattress (we were last to arrive and were allocated bunkbeds). Photos to follow. Probably.

Look, it really is horrible. You don’t need to say it’s not. I have had worse colours in my hair, but that was when I was in university and a good friend was doing her hairdressing training. I was just happy to get free haircuts and didn’t care what the hell she and her friends did to my hair. I have had green. I have had blue. I have had bleached to all buggery. I have had choppy layers. I have had a long and mournful fringe. I have had assymetrical haircuts ON PURPOSE. I have had hair that looked exactly like Ginger Spice’s, even though I specifically said, “This won’t look like Ginger Spice, will it?” and was assured it would not. It did. I have been in hairdressing shows and had my makeup done by drag queens. (The feathers stuck in the corners of my eyes really irritated me.) So I know that hair always grows out. However. This is not a nice combination of colours, and I am determined to get a better (and therefore worse) photo of it this weekend. That’ll show you. That’ll show you ALL.

And my odd position is due to me holding the camera above my head and attempting to take photos in the bathroom mirror. I cropped the camera out, the better to see the crime of nature that is my hair. But it was a bit contorted, I will admit. This is a time when I really could have used a helper monkey.

Right. Now that’s out of the way, it’s almost Queens Birthday weekend and I am going to Mt Buller. There is no snow yet so there won’t be skiing, but I know there will be alcohol. And really, I can fall over just as easily with one as with the other.

And you can’t even see the worst of it, as that is taken under the bad bathroom light. I do not wish to look at it too closely in the daylight. Vampire hair!

Anyway I am trying to distract myself as Mr. T is singing a song about heartworm to the Black Dog. Every so often the Black Dog glances at me piteously. But you know my songs are worse, Black Dog! Unless … unless you want me to chime in with a duet? This confirms my suspicions that the Black Dog is going deaf.

(“You get the injection … you don’t need the tabLET! Wormy wormy heartWORM! No worms in your heart! Because you get the injecSHUN! You don’t need the tabLET!”)

I finally got my hair cut on Saturday. I like the cut, but not so keen on the colour. Tell me, did having two very different colour highlights go out with the Spice Girls? I think so. And yet I am stuck with a “caramel” (read: red-brown) and “blonde” (read: very-blonde, much blonder than my actual hair) set of stripes through my hair. I didn’t actually realise it was quite so noticeable until I got home. Sigh. So I’ve washed it 5 times with the worst shampoo I could find (Pert! Remember Pert? The black hole under our bathroom sink does!) to strip out some of the retina-burning areas. Eh. It’s hair. It’ll grow back.